


Petal to Petal

by Svirdilu



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 03:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svirdilu/pseuds/Svirdilu
Summary: This one's MasterOfThePen's fault! (This was formerly part of a chaptered fic where I was going to be posting multiple stories, but upon considering of things that annoy me in tagging, I decided it was best to separate even short stories for easier searching!)





	Petal to Petal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MasterOfThePen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterOfThePen/gifts).



> This one's MasterOfThePen's fault! (This was formerly part of a chaptered fic where I was going to be posting multiple stories, but upon considering of things that annoy me in tagging, I decided it was best to separate even short stories for easier searching!)

The first thing Rosch thinks on seeing the flower petals in his hand is, _'Again?'_

It's a very resigned sort of again. No, he hadn't been expecting this to happen - but it's not very surprising now that it _has_ , either. He's always been better at lying to himself than he has to others. But deep down, like roots... he's known what he felt.

Something tickles at the inside of his throat, and he swallows compulsively. It doesn't help; this time he's coughing into his elbow instead of his hand, in violent spasms. They don't last for long.

The petals that drift down are small, a ruffled shape rather than a rounded one. They're not quite red, though they're close to it - there's a touch of pink to them.

\---

It's not as though Rosch is unfamiliar with Hanahaki disease. The last time had been mistletoe; little white flowers, so small that even from the start he'd been coughing them up whole. 

He'd been horrified immediately. He'd promised Rowan he'd take care of Sonja like his own sister, and brothers didn't fall in love with their siblings. Nevermind that they'd never truly been related. Nevermind that they'd both been too old for him to have raised her. That they were surrogate siblings through loss more than anything else, and that in the end they'd looked after each other equally.

He'd owed Rowan, and Sonja was his sister. He _couldn't_ love her, not like that.

But he couldn't just remove it, either. He'd heard stories of what happened to those who went through the surgery - emotionless, unable to feel anything toward the former object of their affections, cold as ice. He couldn't throw away his familial feelings for Sonja with these ones. It'd be better to die.

He'd started avoiding her, of course - as a medic, she'd be intimitely aware of what his symptoms meant. It'd only made things worse. She'd been hurt, that Rosch made sure he was always treated by someone else, that he never spent more than half an hour in her presence before rushing off, that something was so clearly troubling him and _he wouldn't tell her_...

Weeks stretched on, agonizing, as Rosch progressed from individual flowers to entire clusters of them. He started having trouble breathing if he slept on his back, and resorted to sleeping on his side, shoulder stiff each morning from the Gauntlet's weight. He stuffed his covers into his mouth so no one would hear him cough.

He'd been long past bloodied petals when Stocke cornered him. _"You need to tell her,"_ his friend had insisted, eyes flashing sharp. 

Rosch, worn down and exhausted, had agreed. _"It can't get any worse, huh?"_ Sonja didn't deserve to think he'd died hating her. On the contrary...

He'd assumed she'd try to make him remove the flowers. In a way, she did. 

As he wrapped his arms around her, Rosch took his first full breath in months.

\---

Stocke's reaction upon finding out - well, roughly speaking, it's also, _'Again?'_

Rosch hadn't intended for him to know; but then again, since when has he ever been able to hide things from his best friend? Stocke takes one look at the petals that have slipped between Rosch's fingers, another at the guilty expression on the man's face, and immediately jumps to, "...you and Sonja. Did something happen?"

"No!" Rosch nearly yelps. He raises both his arms, palms toward Stocke, waving his hands in the air. "No, we're - nothing happened! Sonja and I - we're doing well."

Stocke would challenge him again, but Rosch looks away as he thinks of his fiancée, and his expression is so deeply fond that it's clearly not a lie. Stocke hesitates; he bends down to pick up a petal and turns it over in his fingers, as carefully as if he's handling something made of glass.

Rosch is just trying to think of a way to break the silence, get Stocke's attention diverted, when the man speaks again. There's a faint smile on his face, and Rosch's heart skips a beat, nestling against a sea of petals. "...only you would have so much warmth in you that you'd fall deeply in love with _two_ people. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

Rosch looks away, cheeks heating, and tries not to hope Stocke means the compliment more personally than as a friend.

Stocke's voice is abruptly more serious. "You know you need to tell them. However they respond - you can't put Sonja through that again."

Rosch doesn't flinch, but his, "I _know_ ," comes out a little sharper than he intended. "I know, alright? I just... I need to think about how I'm going to handle it."

Stocke watches him for a long moment, and through it Rosch's lungs stutter, waiting for the man to call him out on his half-lie. In the end, though, all Stocke says is, "Just make sure you don't wait too long." 

He claps a hand to Rosch's shoulder, and Rosch revels in the rare bit of contact he hasn't initiated even as petals jab at his throat. "Good luck, Rosch," Stocke says, tone subtly softer than usual.

Rosch smiles back at him, and hopes any unease showing on his face will just be read as nerves. "Y-yeah. Thanks, Stocke."

But he's got no chance, he knows it; Stocke's never shown interest in anyone, and even if he had he wouldn't be interested in a man, and even if he _were_ it'd be anyone but Rosch. There's a reason he said _'put Sonja through it again'_ instead of _'us'_ \- they're good friends, but that's where it ends...

Rosch breathes in, shakily, and chokes on it. He waves off Stocke's concerned look as he starts coughing again, the sound echoing harshly in the corridor. It peters out slowly. When he straightens, he offers Stocke another grin. "Hey, don't worry about me - I've got experience, haven't I?" 

(Stocke raises his eyebrows skeptically, but doesn't respond, and that's good enough.)

Rosch can't tell Stocke, it won't matter even if he does. But he's _not_ going to have the disease removed from his lungs, not when he knows what will leave with it -

His Gauntlet whirs as he tightens his fingers on the petals that remain in his palm.

He'll - he'll figure out what to do about this. Eventually.


End file.
